Outlier
by Iron Woobie
Summary: There's one in every school. The odd one, the anomaly. The kid with the best grades and the least friends. The one who's destined for greatness. At Keystone High in Central City, the faculty takes note of Wally West, the Outlier. As Wally struggles more and more to balance his hero gig and his school life, his secret may just come out... Chapter Six: The Weapon. Season 1, not AU.
1. The Bell Curve

_**You know Wally West as Kid Flash, partner to the Flash and a hero of Central City. Yet Wally's day-to-day life is very different from his time in the Cave with the Team, and an awkward, ginger, perpetually-hungry, scientific genius who works sleepless nights as a speeding hero is bound to stand out in the student body.**_

_**The school faculty, of course, notices this, and as Wally struggles more and more to balance his hero gig and his school life, his secret may just come out...**_

**Chapter One: The Bell Curve**

Chemistry teacher Tish Hasbrouck sighed in faint boredom as she finished grading the last test in her pile. As she typed it into the online gradebook, she thought back on the class's performance on this unit. It was a fairly complex topic, focusing on the concepts of acid-base equilibrium and proton concentration. This was one of the most difficult units of the year for every class Tish had taught in the past nine years. So as the last grade was entered into the system, she commanded the program to map a bell curve to help the students' grades improve a bit to compensate.

The curve was very consistent, showing that there were three or four kids who simply didn't care to do any of their work on time. This included Josh Nogra, who never did his work at all. (The counselors were working with him to see if he could even graduate next semester.) These students made up the bottom end of the bell curve almost every time.

Then there was the majority of the class that made up the center bulge in the bell curve, which had averaged out to a C+ range. These students were hard workers, but the topic was difficult to grasp, and that was to be expected. Tish planned to bring up the curve to a solid B to adjust for that.

As usual, at the high end of the spectrum, there were the three students who were the most studious and most gifted in her class. Tish couldn't help but feel a bit of favoritism towards these kids. As a teacher, she knew her job was to remain impartial and equally appreciative to all of her students, but she had to admit that these three students were determined to go above and beyond every day in her class. And their strong As on the test reflected their dedication.

And then there was the outlier.

The one misstep in the bell curve.

Wallace Rudolph West.

Tish pulled up Wally's full grade report to fill her screen and just stared for a minute, shaking her head. She would think he was cheating, but teachers had been monitoring him for any academic dishonesty since the fourth grade. He was clean.

So how could it be that Wally was the only one to ace her test? Every. Single. Time. This. Year. How was it possible?

It didn't make any logical sense. Wally was tardy every day, he always had to "go to the bathroom" in the middle of class, and he fell asleep mid-lecture at least twice a week. Perhaps he spent all night studying, and that could explain the bags under his eyes… But if that were the case, Wally would at least take notes, which he never did. He never checked out a textbook for the class at the beginning of the year, according to the librarians, so how could he be studying at all without materials?

Tish had dealt with talented and gifted students who were so far advanced in the coursework that they felt they didn't need to pay attention in class. She usually found some upper-college level work that they could do to supplement the class lessons and challenge themselves, and that would normally satisfy them.

But Wally was, again, an outlier. Besides the fact that he was a sophomore in a senior-level AP chemistry course, no matter how difficult or high-level the material she offered to him was, he slept through what she taught until exam time, and then aced it to prove he knew his stuff. He was never cocky, simply matter-of-fact and genuine.

The only explanation, however improbable it seemed, was that Wally had already learned all of the material before.

He was aggravating. And more importantly, he was screwing up her bell curve.

So just as with every test she had passed out this year, Tish painstakingly typed in his perfect test score with the bonus points from the curve added, then manually deleted his grade from the class bell curve. There we go.

She couldn't have one freak-of-nature, scientific genius, child prodigy ruining her remedy for the other students. That would be… unjust.

Tish closed her computer down for the night with a note of finality, gathering the tests into a file to be handed back the next day.

She frowned at the thought of the outlier in her classroom, and she decided that Wally would turn out to be the next Einstein. And all of the grief he'd caused her and her grading system would be worth it when he attributed his Nobel Prize to her hard work.

After all, outliers are destined for greatness.

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_**A.N.** _So! I have a collection of related one-shots ready to go. If you want more, leave a review!

Yours,

Iron Woobie


	2. The Mile Run

_**A.N.**_ So I got three reviews already for the last chapter! I'm glad you guys like it! You made my day! This is my first story on FanFiction, but I have a lot of ideas for Young Justice and a ton of other fandoms! Thanks for the support! I've decided to make this more of an extended story instead of one-shots, so this chapter is much longer, and you'll start to see some continuity at the end of this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

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_Wally stands out to the track coach… _

_Which may not be a good thing for a speedster in civvies._

**Chapter Two: The Mile Run**

"All right, you wusses! Line up on the track and get ready to feel the burn!" Coach Gabe Matthews barked into the boys' locker room. A series of groans echoed as forty-six high school boys slammed the doors on their lockers and started jogging out to the track loop.

Gabe watched disapprovingly as that one kid, the scrawny red-head with the unspeakably big stomach, was noticeably slow in making it to the starting line. He checked his roster. Yep.

Wallace Rudolph West. The nerd. Seemed to have a slacker's attitude when it came to physical activity. Didn't seem to take Gabe's gym class seriously at all, probably since it didn't count towards his weighted GPA.

Well, today Gabe was going to make West sweat for a change. He was going to do the runt a favor and make him work.

"Listen up, you sissies." Coach Matthews shouted at the boys gathered in a hoard behind the starting line. "Mile run today. How long is a mile, West?" He called out to Wally, who was crouching behind a couple of larger dudes, trying to hide from the coach's gaze.

The ginger stuttered, "F-five thousand two hundred and eighty f-feet, sir."

Gabe scoffed. "Sure, whatever. Now, for the rest of you who aren't eggheads, I'm gonna make this real simple." He pointed at the track loop. "You suckers need to run around this track four times. You cross this line here," he kicked the line for emphasis, "four times. No more, no less. If you cheat, you pay. If you goof off, you pay. If you miraculously happen to 'pull a muscle' halfway through and want to sit out the rest of your mile, no dice. You pay. I'm talking to you, West." Coach Matthews glared over the top of his sunglasses at West, who was ducking his head.

The wiener.

"Alright, you pansies, on your mark. Get set. Go!"

Just like that, the boys were off in a speeding group. Of course, the track and field stars were up front and breaking away fast, as was expected. The footballers, basketball players, and soccer were close behind. There were a few slowpokes, which was normal. Not everyone was built for speed.

But West's pace was just ridiculous.

It was like he was almost trying to jog as slow as physically possible. And his form was atrocious.

Gabe caught up to him within seconds and walked alongside him. "West, listen up. If you post anything more than a twenty-two minute mile, you're gonna do burpees* until 5 o'clock tonight." That seemed to get West's attention, judging by the panicked look that flashed across his face.

"Yeah, that's right. Call it detention. No human being your age is this slow, so if you take me for a fool, and if you think you can mock _me_ and _my_ class on _my_ time, you will face the consequences. Now pick up the pace or get ready to see the nurse's office tomorrow because of the workout I'm going to give you after school. You catch my drift?"

West nodded, sweat already dripping from his hair. "Y-yes, sir."

Coach Matthews turned away, muttering to the ginger, "Don't disappointment me."

He returned to the starting line just as the first group of guys finished their first lap. Gabe marked down their times and sat back in his chair, recording the times of the rest of the boys on his clipboard.

Nearly two minutes in, Coach Gabe Matthews was stunned to see scrawny, slowpoke West blow by the starting line, barely breaking a sweat now. _What the…_ He stood up in his chair abruptly, yanking his sunglasses off to get a better look. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Wally was _booking_. He had already rounding the turn within seconds, and before long, he had caught up to the star running back on the football team.

How was this possible?

Gabe watched to make sure West wasn't cutting corners. Nope. The kid was just running, effortlessly, with perfect form. The change was so drastic that the footballers were slowing down, watching West blowing by them all with ease.

If Gabe had known that the ginger nerd had speed, he'd have recruited him for the track team three months ago. Why had the kid been holding this back all this time? West was already in the middle of his fourth and final lap and not showing any hints of fatigue or exhaustion. It was…

It was a miracle, Gabe decided. A blessing from heaven, gifting his track program a new star. They had the state championship in the bag.

West rounded the last turn and prepared to speed home to the finish line. Gabe pulled out his pen and prepared to make a note on his clipboard. West was about to beat all the suckers in his class, and he wanted to capture this moment. The scrawny nerd was about to make the school record.

Wally was a mere thirty feet away. Twenty-five. Twenty. He was in the homestretch and not even panting.

And then, suddenly, the redhead skidded to a stop.

Gabe dropped his clipboard and his pen. Why was West just standing there, staring at him? Why did he look so horrified? He was doing great until now! Why didn't he take those last few steps and cross the line, ensuring his spot on the track team and eternal glory?

As the minutes ticked by and the track members finished their mile, Gabe could only stare incredulously at West, who refused to finish. "What on earth are you waiting for?!" he shouted at West, who didn't react, only stared in terror. "Are you hurt? Having a stroke or something?" West only shook his head, and… wait…

No…

Was the ginger actually walking backwards? Gabe watched, stunned, as the kid backed up to the curve again, carefully measuring his steps and muttering something under his breath. Before long, more minutes had passed and West was the only guy still on the field. Gabe had no idea what this nut-job was doing.

And then, at the ten minute mark, West began walking, ever so slowly, towards the finish line. He paced each tiny step deliberately, almost like he wanted to cross the line as slow as possible.

Finally – and it was painful to watch – Wally walked across the finish line, clocking a time of twelve minutes and fifty-five seconds. As he trotted off back to the locker room, Gabe watched in confusion at the redhead. Why would he…

Just now, West had the chance to make a remarkable mile time, and he purposely finished last. What the heck? It was almost like he was scared to show how freakin' fast he was. But that couldn't be right.

Coach Matthews closed his eyes and groaned, marking in West's time in the box and walking back towards the coach's office. Wait until Coach Williams heard about this.

* * *

In the showers, Wally tried to avoid the stares of the other guys as he washed up. On the outside, he maintained his calm, unflappable, practically aloof persona that he normally wore on gym days.

But on the inside, he was kicking himself. He nearly lost control of himself, nearly blew his entire cover.

Still might.

But when Coach Matthews threatened to keep him after school, Wally panicked. He couldn't afford to get a detention, couldn't take the chance that would risk his place on the Team. If his dad heard he got a detention because of _gym_… Wally shuddered as he shut off the faucet and started to dry off.

Wally's life, his entire soul, was with the Team. It was the only thing he looked forward to in life, besides hanging out with Dick or running patrol with Uncle Barry. If he was pulled off, he would lose that.

And that couldn't happen.

But Wally overreacted. He panicked. He lost his grip on time, forgot to measure his pace against his watch and the pace of the other guys. He had known not to run through the sound barrier, but he couldn't regulate below that. By the time he came close to finishing his last lap, he noticed that the rest of the guys were still hundreds of feet behind him. This… this was too fast. Especially for scrawny, pathetic, unathletic Wally West.

He skidded to a stop, dust flying up around him. There. At least he didn't cross the line yet. But Coach was staring at him, gaping. He saw.

He _saw_.

Heck, everyone in class saw.

Wally paused, his mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour. No matter what, he wouldn't cross that line for a while. He had to stall until his time was more believable. But what excuse would he have for his sudden burst of speed?

Steroids? No, that wouldn't make any sense – he didn't look like he even worked out regularly, let alone used enhancers. And he didn't want to get expelled for drug abuse. That would definitely get him kicked off the Team.

As Wally pulled his shirt on over his head, he ran a hand through his hair. He decided to play the fear card. He had been so darn scared of detention that he just got a swell of adrenaline that took over. He couldn't run like that normally. He could barely sprint fifty meters, let alone a mile. Impossible. Preposterous.

Yeah, that would have to do. Wally's stomach growled loudly, drawing even more stares from the other guys. He ducked his head, attempting to look as meek and weak as he could. He didn't need this attention. He was in his _civvies_, for crying out loud! At least no one had legitimate proof to give to the press.

Leaning against his locker, Wally grabbed his stomach and grimaced. Yet another reason why he despised gym. Performing any physical activity took its toll on his metabolism, and running especially burned hundreds of calories, even if it wasn't a twentieth of his top speed. Looks like he would have to overload on lunch again today to compensate.

Fan-freakin'-tastic.

"West!" Coach Matthews barked into the locker room. Wally jerked his head up, dreading the inevitable confrontation with the man. "Get in my office. ASAP." Wally gulped and trudged out of the locker room, slumping over to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.

"Well, West. What do you have to say for yourself?" Coach Matthews grunted, his arms crossed across his chest. This was not good. Not good, not good. Nope.

"Umm… sorry?" Wally squeaked.

"Sorry? For what? For hiding your talent from the athletics department or for mocking me by refusing to finish your school-record-breaking time? Sorry for what?" Coach looked livid. His face was turning nearly as red as the Flash's suit.

"S-sorry, sir. I d-didn't mean to mock you." Wally hated sounding like a wimp, but it made himself less of a target 99% of the time.

"Then what happened? Why'd you stop?"

"I… I guess I… I got scared, sir." Wally rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

"Scared of what?!" Coach practically screamed. "You were about to post a five-minute mile! Sure it's not the best on the planet, but with a little weight-lifting, a bit of endurance training, some conditioning, and you could win state easy! What gives?"

"I got scared, sir. I d-don't want d-detention, sir. Please. I… I freaked. I don't think I can run even half that fast."

Coach got in Wally's face, fuming, steam practically blowing from his ears. "Are you calling a five-minute mile an adrenaline rush? Do you take me for a fool?!"

Wally ducked his head, eyes downcast. "N-no, sir."

Coach Matthews sighed and backed up. "I don't get you, West. Any other kid who could make my best mile runners look like snails would be pumped to get a place on varsity. Especially a puny freak like you." The coach's eyes narrowed. "So I take it you _can't_ run like that all the time?"

"No, sir," Wally said emphatically, shaking his head and turning pale. A redhead with wicked speed on the track team in Central City? That would be a dead giveaway for Kid Flash.

Coach moaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're weird, kid." He waved him away. "Get out of my face."

"Thank you, sir," Wally sighed in relief. He left the Coach's office and nearly slumped to the ground.

That was too close. If anything like that happened again, he could kiss his secret ID, and his spot on the Team and at Uncle Barry's side, goodbye. Wally frowned as the bell for passing period rang in the hallway. Time for lunch. Yippee.

* * *

Gabe Matthews crouched behind his desk, his head in his hands, feeling as if he won the lottery but someone snatched his ticket and put it through the shredder. That West kid had some nerve.

There was a gentle knock on his door, and he barked, "Come in."

It was Tish. Her bright smile and bouncy blonde hair cheered him up quickly. "Hey," she said in her quiet, calm voice. "You busy?"

"Naw. The kids have lunch this period." Gabe stood to his feet and walked over to give Tish a hug and a kiss. She rubbed his shoulders, which he just now noticed were hunched up like he was shrugging.

"You're so tense. Did something happen?" she asked as she rubbed his muscles with her delicate, small hands.

"Just that Wally West kid. Freak of nature, that one."

"Oh, tell me about it," Tish muttered, a hint of sullenness betraying her normal carefree, peaceable attitude. "That boy's an outlier if there ever was one. Ticks me off." She leaned away from Gabe to look him in the eye. "You know, we should bring it up at the staff meeting on Friday. See if anyone else has an issue with him."

Gabe kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. "Good idea, babe."

*burpees: a boot-camp style drill in which the victim must jump up as high as possible, then drop to their hands and feet and perform a push-up, and repeat.

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_**A.N.**_ I googled everything related to track and field in this chapter. I know exactly zilch. So if there's an inaccuracy, my humblest apologies!

So what did you think? Leave a review!

_Next up, Wally vs. the Lunch Ladies. Dun dun duuuunnn…_


	3. The Lunch Line

_**A.N. Wow, you guys! You're making me blush with your reviews! Aww shucks…XD**_

_**I worked real hard in between final exams to bring you… Chapter 3!**_

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_You'd think lunch would be a speedster's favorite time of day._

_But when your stomach takes up over a third of the cafeteria's food budget, well… People start to notice._

**Chapter Three: The Lunch Line**

Keystone High School is a fairly large institution. Located in the heart of Central City, the school boasts nearly three thousand students. Because of the sheer number of hungry teenagers at noontime, the lunch period is split into four sections: the 12:15, the 12:45, the 1:15, and the 1:45 groups.

Naturally, Wally was assigned to the 1:45 group, and it was always right after gym class. And since there was a dumb "no food in the classroom or hallways" policy, Wally was stuck waiting until practically 2pm to eat _anything_.

His stomach was always _killing_ him by lunchtime.

So anyone who knew who he was could hardly blame him if he went back for sevenths and eights every day. Unfortunately, he was in his civvies, and boring, tiny Wallace Rudolph West couldn't possibly digest _that_ much food. He had to limit himself a bit.

But on days like today, when Wally inadvertently burned too many calories through physical activity, his metabolism was practically eating him alive. He needed food, he needed a lot of it, and he needed it fast. So he got in line with the rest of the nearly three hundred students who bought lunch each day, and grabbed a tray, subconsciously reminding himself that no, the tray was _not_ edible.

It's sad what hunger can do to a guy.

Slowly, almost like torture, the line ebbed along. Wally hoped to the bottom of his heart that today's menu would at least taste somewhat good. He shuddered at the thought of the slimy, "ground-beef casserole" slop-concoction that the kitchen dared to serve the students sometimes. Those days were the worst, since Wally was a food connoisseur and loved the best cuisine possible, yet had no choice but to go back for more. It was a cruel and unusual punishment.

At last, he made it to the food station. Yes! Rolls! He grabbed two and dropped them on his plate. Nothing was more harmless than a simple bread roll. And… salad! Not high in calories, but still filling. (But Wally made sure to avoid celery at all costs – he wasn't in the mood to _lose_ any calories today.)

Rolls and salad? That must mean that today's menu was… Italian! Score! Wally grinned wide at the smell of marinara sauce and hot cheese wafting towards his nose. Italian food was one of the best options for a starving speedster. High in carbs, high calories, super filling. Wally bent his head forward to get a glimpse of what was up for grabs. Pizza, pasta, calzones… He started drooling on the spot.

At last, he arrived at the main courses. Grabbing three slices of sausage pizza, two scoops of spaghetti and meatballs, and a calzone, Wally loaded up his plate sky-high. He resisted digging in right then and there.

Finally, dessert. _Oh, mama._ Was that _chocolate cake_? Rich, dark, moist, triple-layer chocolate cake, with whipped-fudge icing, practically singing his name. He automatically reached for a slice, when a kid behind him coughed. Wally turned in confusion.

"Dude," the guy snickered, "are you seriously gonna eat all that? Save some for the rest of us, man!"

Wally looked down at his tray. Maybe it looked like a lot to everyone else, but this was maybe a twentieth of what Wally needed each day. He would definitely go back for more later. Wally shrugged and reached for the cake again. The guy behind him scoffed and muttered, "Where the heck do you put it all, anyways? Glutton."

Wally ignored him, continuing down the line. He grabbed a bottle of water and a couple of oranges before he arrived at the end. Oh, wonderful. Ms. Marcie was on cashier duty today. She'd always hated Wally ever since the infamous Sandwich Shortage of 2011.

Hey, it wasn't his fault that he and the Flash had to chase Zoom around the world _twice_ before they nabbed him that morning! He'd been trying to make up for missing both dinner and breakfast and burning close to fifty-six thousand calories the night before! But Ms. Marcie, of course, couldn't know that.

"Oh, it's you," Ms. Marcie sneered. "Planning to eat us out of house and home, huh, West?"

Wally said nothing. He had learned from experience that trying to reason with, backtalk, or even appease Ms. Marcie led to detention every time. He just patiently waited for her to ring up his load of food before she would cut him loose.

She sighed at the total. $35.60. And this was only for the first round.

Wally handed her the card he kept in his back pocket. It was a card given to him by the Justice League when he first got his powers years ago. Flash had one connected to the same account. The famous billionaire Bruce Wayne – coughcoughBatmancoughcough – was always willing to be a generous benefactor to the speedsters, who just weren't able to support the food costs to sustain their metabolisms on their own. Wally valued that card as much as he valued his life.

She swiped the card and handed it back to him with a scowl. "One day, West," she growled, "I swear. That card of yours is gonna go dry, and you'll find yourself out of luck, buddy."

Wally paled at the thought. The card was his lifeline. If he ever lost it, or the funds ran out, and if he had just gotten back from patrol or a mission, then he could say "bye-bye, lunch".

That couldn't happen. He'd end up hospitalized before the final bell rang.

Slowly, Wally turned away from the lunch line, his tray gripped tightly in his hands, and went to look for a place to sit down. Sadly, he knew his options were limited. It was an understatement to say that Wally wasn't very popular. Being a superhero with little outside free time will do that to you.

He kissed his social life goodbye three years ago.

He at last found a spot at a vacant table where he plopped his backpack down on a chair and started to dig in. Food always managed to cheer him up, and the more he ate, the better he felt. Wally resisted the urge to speed his way through his meal so he could go back for more as soon as possible. He got enough stares and whispering looks as it is; he didn't need any more attention.

Before long, though, Wally had polished off the contents of his tray. But his stomach, as expected, called for more. So he stood to his feet, just as he had done day after day for the past few years, and got back in line for seconds.

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of Ms. Marcie with a tray stacked equally as high as before. Rolling her eyes and huffing, she rang him up again, and was that the hint of an evil eye she flashed at him before he left? Wally shrugged and dug into his food again, attempting to ignore the glances of disgust from the other kids in the vicinity.

It was different in the Cave with the Team, or when he was hanging out with Dick on the weekends. If he ate a ton, if he ate messily, sure the others would tease him, make fun, call him "Kid Stomach". But it was fine, because he didn't mind the ribbing from them. When it all came down to it, Wally knew he would give his life for the Team, and so would they for him.

His classmates were another story, though.

It wasn't long until Wally needed to go back for thirds. It really was ridiculous. Wally hadn't even run that fast in gym, yet his body burned up all of his reserves in minutes.

Ms. Marcie wasn't pleased. In fact, she grabbed Wally by the wrist and pulled him around the counter to the back room. The other lunch ladies were all gathered there, each with varying expressions of discontent. A few were puffing on cigarettes, and one took a swig from a bottle of beer.

Not your typical wholesome bunch. Wally gulped at the look of pure loathing Ms. Vera gave him. "You, sir. Do you realize what you have done?"

"Umm…" Wally fidgeted. This was not a good place to be.

Ms. Marcie stalked over to the refrigerator door and ripped down a piece of paper that had been taped onto the sheer metal surface. She spun around and waved it in Wally's face. He took a step back in alarm. What was going on?

"You see this, son?" Ms. Marcie jabbed accusingly at the paper, pointing at a large section on a pie graph. "According to last month's statistics, you consumed over _thirty-five percent_ of the school's cafeteria budget. Do you know what that means? You managed to eat more than the entire football, basketball, _and_ soccer* teams _combined_ over the course of thirty days. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Wally felt himself blushing. This was not happening. He knew he ate a lot, but he figured in a school this large, no one would be keeping track of how much food he needed.

This. Was. Bad.

Ms. Vera stood from her seat on a countertop. "You know, West, it'd be different if you played a sport or something. At least then you would have a small reason for eating so darn much. But _no_," she scowled, "you're thin as a twig. You probably haven't picked up a ball in years. I mean, look at you!"

He glanced down at himself. It was true that he was skinny. He knew that. Speedsters were physically incapable of gaining too much weight before they burned it up. They were pure bone and muscle, but always lean muscle. Wally knew he wasn't bulky no matter how you slice it. Fighting on the team alongside physical giants like Roy and Kaldur, and especially Conner, reminded him every day of how he measured up. It was a fact of life.

But hey. The way Wally saw it, being skinny was a lot better than being, you know, _dead_ from starvation.

He looked at the pie chart in Ms. Marcie's hand and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

Ms. Rita, who hadn't said anything yet, took another puff from the cigarette in her fingers. "Yeah, well, 'sorry' ain't gonna pay the bills, kid."

Wally frowned. "I pay for everything I take, though, right?"

Ms. Rita narrowed her eyes. "Sure, you may pay the school back, but do we see a cent for the hours of overtime we work to make sure you snot-nosed kids don't sue us? Nope. Nada."

Taking another sip from the bottle of Budweiser in her grasp, Ms. Vera sighed. "It's a pain feeding ya, West. Remember that. _You_," she glared at Wally out of the corner of her eye, "_are a royal pain in our collective_—"

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Wally sighed in relief. Salvation. He backed up to the exit, waving apologetically. "S-sorry for all the trouble, ladies. See ya tomorrow!" Wally got back to the rapidly emptying cafeteria and swung his backpack over his shoulders before realizing that he never did get to go back for thirds. His stomach protested loudly and he flopped his head back and groaned, then started heading for his next class.

Today was _not_ his day.

* * *

Marcie turned and frowned at the other women in the workroom, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That punk is something else," she huffed.

Rita took a long drag from her joint. "The things the school board makes us put up with. You've really gotta wonder where the runt puts it all."

Nodding in agreement, Vera chugged the rest of her beer and chucked it across the room into the recycling bin. "I remember the first day of school last year when we all thought West was wasting the food, dumping it into the trash. Oh, how we were ready to tan his hide!"

Marcie took another look at the stats sent to her from the accounting office. "This is a serious problem, though. I don't know about you ladies, but I'm not going to keep working long hours on no extra pay to keep shoving our hard-earned labor down West's throat. He's probably throwing it all up or something later, anyways. It's a waste."

"Hear hear," Rita concurred, waving her joint in the air and sending trails of smoke swirling in the dim lighting. "Bring it up at the faculty meeting, girl. Give the board a piece of our minds." Vera walked out to the cafeteria where the troublesome ginger was exiting out to the hallway.

She turned to look at her coworkers with a grim expression. "If the administrators won't get a handle on Wallace Rudolph West, the cafeteria staff will go on strike."

*For those of you outside of the United States, "soccer" is our word for "football". :)

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_**A.N. **_Oooooohhh…. Things are heating up. It's not looking good for Wally.

Thank you guys for your amazing reviews! I look at them literally all day long to give me encouragement for the next chapter! I'm doing my best to post at least once a day, so please keep reviewing! :D

_Next time on Outlier: On days when Wally's running late and needs to get home soon, walking back to his house isn't an option. And since he's still in his civvies and can't afford to be seen using super-speed, there's only one choice left: the bus._

_What's wrong with the bus, you say? Oh, nothing. Just the fact that it's a slow, cramped, small, closed-off rolling can of death._

_Yeah, Wally's claustrophobia is not treating him nicely…_


	4. The Bus Ride

_**A.N.**_ Oh. My. Gosh. You guys seriously have no idea how much your comments make me smile and giggle like a little kid. Those of you who are reviewing, you are amazing and I love you so much! :') I feel inspired to write the next chapter ASAP whenever I get a nice little note from one of you readers, and you know what? This is the most writing I've consistently done in my life, thanks to you! I'm posting every day, and I'm writing more and more in each chapter! Bless you all!

(Note: this chapter is the longest yet and took about five hours to plan and write, so that's my excuse for why I posted a bit late. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the reviews!)

* * *

_Wally finds himself running late. Since speeding home isn't an option, there's only one thing left to do: ride the bus._

_There's nothing like a claustrophobic speedster trapped in slow, cramped, yellow tube of death to top off a rough day at school._

**Chapter Four: The Bus Ride**

Of all the classes Wally had to take, Social Studies was without a doubt the worst. Not because he had to learn about a bunch of dead people who did a bunch of boring stuff ages ago, or because there were too many pointless dates and battles to memorize in a week, but because of the mandatory current events discussion every day.

What's wrong with current events, you ask? Nothing, for the most part. Wally was sure that in any other Missouri town, going over current events would be a harmless, even enjoyable, activity.

But Keystone High School was located smack-dab in the middle of Central City, five blocks away from the Flash Museum and two blocks down from the local news station. If there was any place in the entire city that got the latest updates on the resident hero and his sidekick, it was Wally's school.

So naturally, current events automatically steered towards that topic every. Single. Day. It was fun at first, getting to hear from his classmates and his teachers what they thought about the work he did in his off time. It gave him encouragement, knowing that he was a major celebrity among his peers.

And wouldn't you know it, a few good things even came out of it, like the Flash Food Initiative that Keystone High started up last year. They started a public awareness campaign, encouraging families to sign up on a special website to set out a small meal or a snack in front of their houses for the speedsters who might be passing by on patrol each day. It was a touching gift, and Wally's stomach was eternally grateful for the city's kindness.

However, current events time wasn't always rainbows and roses. Students were encouraged to bring up conflicting viewpoints. While some people in America saw superheroes as saviors and dedicated defenders of the population, others felt distrust towards them, especially the "metahumans*". When it came to the Flashes, for instance, where some people adored the scarlet speedster and his canary companion, others were overly cautious, calling into question where their loyalties really lied.

Today, the students were in a heated debate about the policy behind the National Metahuman Registration Act that G. Gordon Godfrey had apparently proposed on his show the day before. (Wally didn't watch the show last night, partly because he was a little preoccupied fighting Deathstroke and Sportsmaster at the time, and partly because he could never stomach that man's relentless bashing of the Justice League.)

"But think of the benefits!" Raymond Martinez objected. "If we knew exactly where and who all the metas in the nation were, we wouldn't be caught by surprise when a new supervillain cropped up. We'd already know their powers ahead of time, and we could take them down easily."

"That's dumb," retorted Mai Li hotly. "Not everyone would willingly register, in the first place, so the system would be pointless. Second, while we may know the villains' weaknesses, you're forgetting that the villains would know the heroes' weaknesses as well! Superman already gets enough flack from his enemies because they know about his susceptibility to Kryptonite. The country would be plunged into a super-powered war!"

"Wally," Mr. Cudjo called out. "What's your take?" The class turned to look with curiosity at Wally, who slunk lower in his seat.

He generally tried to stay out of these kinds of conversations. He had opinions, of course, but if people saw that he actively supported heroes, and if they saw his red hair and pieced together all the other things that made him a bit… _odd_, they'd figure it out. He couldn't have that, so he was pretty much forced to support anti-hero sentiments, much to his chagrin.

On this subject, he was completely and totally against the Metahuman Registration Act. For one, it would blow his cover and the secret identities of the entire Justice League. For another thing, some of the Team members, like Conner, weren't very public heroes like he and Dick were. The Act would take the "covert" out of "covert ops", and the Team would most likely be disbanded.

But Wally shrugged and nonchalantly commented, "I'm all for it."

The final bell rang, signaling freedom and deliverance from this oppressive prison of a high school. Wally jumped to his feet and bolted out the door of the classroom.

Only to trip _spectacularly_ over Josh Nogra's outstretched foot. Wally was sent sprawling into the hallway, his backpack flying off, books and papers fluttering everywhere. Wally banged his head into the lockers on the opposite wall with a wince-inducing CLANG. He clutched his head, spinning around to see Nogra snickering behind his hand, and then waving to Wally, "Have a nice day, West! Klutz."

Immediately, the hallway was swarmed with thousands of stampeding teenagers. Wally shrunk back against the wall, trying to avoid getting trampled. He saw his Calculus textbook get kicked on accident by a student's foot.

"You've got to be kidding me," Wally murmured under his breath. This _really_ was not his day.

A couple minutes later, the hallway cleared up enough for Wally to gather his belongings and stuff them back into his backpack. He finally trudged out of school and took a big breath of fresh, cold air. Today had been a series of near-disasters. He looked forward to getting home and becoming Kid Flash again. He always felt naked in civvies, anyways.

As he started his fifteen-minute walk home, Wally reached in the outer pocket of his backpack to get out his goggles. They were like a comfort item, practically like his good luck charm, an ever-present reminder that no matter how stupid life at school seemed, there was an entire superhero community waiting for him later.

But he couldn't find his goggles.

Wally froze, and ripped open his bag wide, searching frantically for the red eyeglasses that the speedster treasured as much as his right hand. (Maybe more - heck, speedsters valued their _feet_ and _legs_ more than their hands.) He upended his backpack, sending his supplies, notebooks, and textbooks falling to the ground once more. Nothing.

"No. No, _no_. No no no no no no no!" Wally repeatedly smacked his face with his hand, groaning. This… this can't be happening. They must have fallen out in the hallway when Nogra tripped him. "Sir Isaac Newton," he cursed, gathering his stuff for a second time and turning around to walk back to school.

Those goggles meant everything to him. He had to get them back.

Wally reentered the doors of Keystone High and beelined straight for the hallway where he tripped. He walked along past the empty classrooms, hurriedly scanning the ground for his goggles. Where were they?

"Looking for these, West?"

Oh, no. Not that voice. _Anyone_ but him.

Wally looked up to see Coach Matthews, _Coach Matthews_ of all people, standing at the end of the hall, holding up his red goggles in his hand. The Coach did not look happy at all.

Crap. Double crap. Crap to the infinity. Wally was tempted to say that no, those goggles weren't his at all. But Coach seemed to already know the truth, and Wally needed them if he wanted to go crime-fighting later. It took at least two days' notice in advance to replace them; they were built especially for him in Uncle Barry's lab.

Coach Matthews took a menacing step towards Wally. "Well, West? What do you need these for?"

Wally lied. "I like swimming, sir." Okay, that was pitiful, and the coach saw through it easily.

"It's November, West. And I'm not stupid. These goggles are for runners. But last I heard, you're 'too scared to run fast', am I right?" Coach's eyes narrowed. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

As if today couldn't get any worse.

* * *

By the time Wally escaped that horrible situation, school had been out for nearly half an hour. He was running late. _Really_ late. His dad would flay him alive if he wasn't home soon.

The rules that the West and Allen families had set for Wally's freedom as a speeding hero were long and extensive, but one of the most important points was that Wally was to be home as soon as possible and complete all of his homework and studying before he was allowed to don the cowl for the late afternoon and evening. Then he was free to spend his time beating down bad guys to his heart's content.

In Wally's opinion, it was a pretty sweet deal, especially since he could whip through his homework in less than ten minutes if he hurried. But all that would change if he couldn't get to his house on time.

Standing in front of the school, Wally shuffled his feet in thought. His toes in his sneakers curled and flexed, itching to burst into a sound-barrier-breaking sprint. Wally could be home in literally twelve seconds if he ran. And it was _so_ _tempting_, especially after such a crummy day.

But with his track record, he couldn't afford causing any more questions to rise among his teachers and classmates. It wasn't worth the risk, he decided.

Wally settled for boarding the last bus home.

Mr. Davis, the driver, had it out for Wally. (Of course, because were there any Keystone High staff members who _didn't _hate him these days?) The stupid reason why? Because Wally once – _one time_ – made the mistake of crossing the street in front of the bus, and Mr. Davis ended up getting scolded for nearly running over a student.

As Wally climbed the four steps onto the school bus, Mr. Davis glared at him. "Watch yourself, bucko," he mumbled so only Wally could hear. Wally nodded slightly, trying to look as timid and compliant as he could.

Then he looked for a seat. Lo and behold, the only available spot on the entire bus was in the middle section on the aisle. As Wally squeezed in between his classmates and sat down, he already felt little waves of nausea hit his mind.

Just his luck. He was stressed and hungry, causing his claustrophobia to flare up. Wonderful. Just _wonderful_. Wally prayed that the ride would be smooth, short, and uneventful. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He didn't even have a window seat, couldn't see anything beyond the jackets, backpacks, and heads of the students surrounding him at all angles. So Wally ducked his head a bit, pinched his nose, took deep breaths, and pictured the wide open spaces of the farmland outside Central City.

Everything was going to be _fine_, Wall-man.

* * *

A flat tire. The school bus got a flat tire.

Wally nearly burst out in hysterical laughter. It was almost unreal how unbelievably _horrendous_ today was turning out to be.

All of the occupants on the bus heard the loud _pop!_ from one of the right wheels on the vehicle, and Mr. Davis promptly pulled the bus over to the side of the road. Wally asked if he could get out to stretch his legs and get a breath of fresh air, and Mr. Davis just laughed in his face and shouted at him to shut up.

_Nice guy, that man._

So all in all, Wally was trapped in a cramped, unmoving, narrow, stuffy, tin can of doom. He started hyperventilating, his eyes wide.

The sides of the bus were closing in.

There was no way out, no escape.

He would be late getting home.

He would be kicked off the team.

He wouldn't get to be Kid Flash anymore.

He was running out of oxygen.

He couldn't breathe.

He was going to die in here.

It was as if he was watching himself on screen in a movie theater. The rational, scientific side of his brain recognized that he was exhibiting all of the known symptoms of a claustrophobia-induced panic attack. He was sweating profusely, his heart rate was pounding even faster than usual, he was becoming dizzy and lightheaded. His body was trembling, getting hot flashes and chills. (Thank goodness he wasn't vibrating at the moment – the friction would light his seat on fire and make the already bad situation even worse.) His fingers and toes were turning numb. He felt nauseous and disoriented, and his throat felt like invisible hands were strangling him. His fear levels were off the charts.

But the irrational, panicked side of his brain could only think one thing over and over again: _I'm going to die, get me out of here. I'm going to die, get me out of here. I'm going to die, get me out of here. _

Not noticing the questioning glances of his peers around him, Wally attempted to get a hold on his anxiety attack. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Take it easy, Wall-man. You're going to be okay_, he tried to reason with himself.

Pulling his legs up to his chest, Wally stuck his head in between his knees and tried to visualize himself somewhere else, anywhere else but here. He placed two fingers on his watch, feeling the tick of the gears in the device and doing his best to pace his breathing with the seconds.

He pictured the Cave, with the Team gathered around him, laughing and having a great time.

He pictured the North Atlantic Ocean, where he first met Kaldur as he was emerging from the underwater kingdom of Atlantis at Aquaman's side.

He pictured Gotham, where he regularly met up with Roy and Dick on weekend team-up missions to take down the most dastardly of villains.

He pictured running beside Uncle Barry, happily decking Captain Boomerang in the face on his first patrol out as Kid Flash years ago.

The memories calmed him, soothed his mind. He was able to escape the containment of the bus, at least mentally. His breathing slowed, his pulse returned to normal. Before he knew it, the kid next to him was shoving his shoulder. "Yo, dude, wake up. It's your stop. Mr. Davis is yelling at you to get off here."

Wally lifted his head and practically ran down the steps, not even turning back to thank the driver. Freedom. He stood on the sidewalk as that yellow hearse they called a bus pulled away, head thrown back, stretching his arms out wide and sucking in big lungfuls of clean, cool, Central City air.

Wally could barely restrain himself from breaking out in a run, instead resorting to a light jog home. This was bliss, the wind blowing through his hair, the even tap tap tap of his sneakers hitting the sidewalk, the steadiness, the carefree feeling in his chest.

But all those great emotions dropped once he stepped through the front door of his house to see his mom and dad waiting for him, their arms crossed and their faces looking not too pleased.

Wally gulped.

* * *

After a discussion even more heated than the current events debate in Social Studies that day, and after a few warnings from his parents, Wally finally broke away to speed through his homework in three minutes, sixteen seconds, time practically freezing in his perspective as he worked. He nearly ripped the notebook paper with his pencil tip in his eagerness.

There.

Dorky loser Wally West was done for the day.

Now it was the hero's playtime.

He stood from his desk, and turned to his closet rack. There, in all its gleaming glory, h unghis suit. Slick material that was a unique cross between spandex, Kevlar, and a complicated blend of protective chemicals, the suit was designed for maximum streamlining, durability, and flexibility. After Cadmus, he added a few alterations in the suit's design, including shoulder, elbow, and knee pads, and better gloves and gauntlets. The suit was complete with twin red, lighting-shaped earpieces that doubled as comms units, a yellow cowl that exposed his hair, eyes, and the lower half of his face to the wind, and two super-comfortable running boots.

The vibrant outfit was the equivalent of heaven to the teenaged speedster, and he couldn't wait to suit up. He darted forward, spun around in vortex of red hair and yellow fabric, and finished in a heroic pose in the middle of his bedroom. Kid Flash was in the house.

One more thing. Wally pulled out his goggles from his backpack and pulled them onto his forehead.

Perfect.

Wally grinned a genuine smile for the first time that day as he looked in the mirror. This was the real him. This was how he felt on the inside and out. He felt most comfortable as Kid Flash, savior of thousands and inspiration to adolescents everywhere.

In a flash of yellow and red stripes, Wally was out the door and on his way to the local Zeta tubes.

A night of awesomeness with the Team was finally waiting for him.

*metahuman: a term for superheroes with superhuman powers related to their genetics, their ethnicity, or their physiological makeup (i.e. Kid Flash is a metahuman, but Robin is not.)

* * *

A.N. Wow, this really was my longest chapter yet, which is why I was a bit late in uploading! Sorry for the delay readers, but I hope you liked it anyways! What did you think? Any suggestions or comments? I'm always open for constructive criticism!

_Next up on Outlier: Wally is ready to cut loose and have fun with the Team on a mission tonight, at last getting a chance to enjoy himself. But when the mission takes a turn for the worse, will Wally have some tough explaining to do at school tomorrow?_

**So bad news: I'm going to be traveling without internet access for the next two days, so I may not be able to post very much for a while.**

**Good news: I'm going to be riding in a car for all of that time with nothing to do, so when I do get internet access, you can expect a lot of chapters all at once!**

Please still review, though, since I can probably still get emails on the car ride, and I could use the encouragement as I write!

Yours truly,

Iron Woobie


	5. The Mission

_**A.N.**_ Wow, thank you all so much for the support! Reviewers and followers, you rock! Since you all seem to really like this little thing I've been writing, I thought long and hard about what else I could try to stretch my skills and make it even better… So I'm expanding it from a short, six-chapter tale to a much longer story! This chapter will introduce a few more elements to the big story, and it will involve the whole Team, and some more Wally whumping that we all know and love. Those of you wondering about **Spitfire**, I will say this: you may see more of it later in the story, but it will be a subplot at best. Artemis is not a main character, so while I totally ship the two like everyone else, I want this story to be mostly about Wally.

Anyways, this chapter is _insanely_ long, I know. I thought about splitting it up, but it just seemed to work better like this. Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy it! :D

* * *

_Wally is pumped to finally go out for a night of crime-fighting with the Team. But when the fight is on his home turf against his most familiar villains, will the mission take a turn for the worse?_

_And will it cause even more complications in the future?_

**Chapter Five: The Mission**

_Recognized. Kid Flash. B03._

"The Wall-man is here!" Wally announced as he always did, the tingling he always felt from Zeta-tubing into the Cave wearing off. The smell of earth and soil greeted him, and the soothing lighting made him feel more relaxed by the minute. This was a safe haven, a place for like-minded teen heroes to gather, joining forces to defeat evil, and best of all…

"Hey, Wally," M'gann smiled at him. "There's chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen if you want some!"

The Cave _always_ had food.

Wally grinned wide. "Really? You rule, Megs! Thanks!" He darted into the kitchen to grab one or two or thirty. His stomach was eating him alive right now.

But guess who beat him to it? Dick- sorry, _Robin_ - and Artemis were leaning against the counter, Robin reaching over and snatching up the very last cookie on the tray and popping it in his mouth. "Oh hey, Wally," Artemis sneered. "You didn't want these, right? We took the liberty of polishing off the last batch." They gave twin smirks of pure evil at Wally, who was nearly leaning on the island for support. Some friends he had.

"You… you didn't, guys. Did you?" Their dastardly smiles told the whole story. Wally felt absolutely crushed. Maybe these two meant to be funny, but he was literally starving. He needed food, and he needed it _now_.

This wasn't funny at all. He wasn't even in the mood to complain.

Wally groaned, then turned to rummage in the refrigerator for sandwich fixings and started to make a dozen ham and cheese sandwiches on the island. He heard Artemis shrug and exit the kitchen, leaving him and Robin alone. Wally focused on his task, his vision almost blurring from his hunger. Robin sat on the opposite counter. "What's up, man? You seem to have less pep in your step than normal. Feeling whelmed?"

"Nope, Rob. Not whelmed at all," Wally sighed, stuffing the first sandwich entirely into his mouth before getting started on the second one.

"Rough day at school?" Robin asked curiously.

Wally looked up at his best friend with a sigh. "You have no idea."

And it was true. Robin wasn't a metahuman, and neither was Artemis. They didn't have to hide any powers or freakish metabolisms from their teachers and classmates. Kaldur couldn't relate either, since he went to school down in Shayeris where everyone had gills just like him. Conner and M'gann had no problem blending in at their school - which was ironic because they were _aliens_, for crying out loud - and Zatanna, despite being a different species, a _Homo magi_, looked and acted exactly like any other human in her Catholic school.

Wally was the only one whose powers made his non-hero life _that_ much more complicated.

He finished his fifth sandwich and offered Robin one. His friend took it, and they leaned back and ate in comfortable silence.

Suddenly, Batman's low, gruff voice came on the intercom. "Team, report to the mission room."

_Yes._ Finally, a chance to kick some bad guy butt and take out his frustrations on villains who deserved it. Wally and Robin exchanged grins of excitement. "Race you there," Wally taunted, bolting toward the mission room with Robin swinging through the Cave right behind him.

* * *

Batman's face batglared menacingly down at the Team from the big screen in the mission room. Wally resisted the urge to start pacing. He was ready to release all of this nervous energy.

In his cold, grave voice, Batman briefed the teens on their mission parameters for the evening. "The Flash is off-world on a League mission tonight, so he asked me to pass along a tip from the Central City news station." Wally's head jerked up in surprise. Aunt Iris probably tipped Uncle Barry off. What was going on?

Four pictures flashed (no pun intended) onto the screen. Captain Cold, Trickster, Captain Boomerang, and Mirror Master. Wally narrowed his eyes. What were his villains up to now?

Batman continued. "The news source claims that the Rogues plan to make a heist at the Flash Museum in downtown Central City. Not much else is known, but Flash wished to ask Kid Flash's opinion in this matter." The Team turned to look at Wally. "Do you wish to take this mission alone, since this is your city and your villain gallery? Or do you want to have the Team with you?" asked Batman.

Wall didn't hesitate. "I'll need everyone on this." Robin stared at him for a moment in surprise.

"Very well," Batman nodded. "Your assignment is to perform covert reconnaissance, and if possible, stop the Rogues in whatever they are plotting. Kid Flash," Wally stood to attention. "You will lead this mission alongside Aqualad, since you will know the most about the area and the villains' abilities. Team, good luck." Batman's face vanished from the screen.

Wally clapped his hands together in anticipation. "Alright guys, here's the game plan." But the Team started exchanging smiles and a few chuckles. "What's so funny?" Wally asked.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Please, Baywatch. Everyone knows that the 'Rogues' aren't exactly the baddest bad guys out there. They're pretty tame, especially compared to villains in cities like Gotham. They even have _rules_ against killing. This mission is a bit… _below_ us, if you catch my drift."

Robin crossed his arms. "Yeah, why didn't you just want to take this one yourself? You could take these guys out easily on your own, right? Piece of cake."

Wally couldn't believe he was hearing this! "Come on, you guys! Just because the Rogues have standards doesn't mean they're not dangerous! We have to take this seriously. We can't afford to be careless."

Wally knew all too well what happened when you let your guard down around the Rogues, and it was _never_ pretty. He locked eyes with Kaldur, silently pleading for him to back him up.

Kaldur didn't disappoint. "Team, we have a duty to complete any mission Batman assigns us and to complete it to the best of our ability. Dissent is not an option. Let us board the Bio-Ship promptly." The authority in his voice spurred the others to head out to the hangar and board M'gann's ship immediately.

Wally hung back. "So, Kaldur, I was thinking strategy, and I—"

Kaldur interrupted. "With all due respect, Kid Flash, I do agree with the Team on this matter. We have fought and defeated more powerful and more menacing villains in the past, and I have every confidence that this mission will be a quick success." With a nod, Kaldur joined the Team on board, leaving Wally to sigh and bring up the rear.

He only hoped things turned out as well as the Team expected.

* * *

The Bio-Ship was camouflaged and hovering over the Flash Museum. The Rogues hadn't shown up yet, and the Team was changing their suits to stealth-tech before descending to hide in the museum.

All except Wally, who retained his yellow-and-red standard colors so that the Rogues would recognize him and might be a little more comfortable in explaining their scheme. He and Flash had an… _unconventional_ relationship with the Rogues Gallery, after all. Also, the Team agreed that once they finished the mission, KF would stay behind to handle any press and continue his patrol of Central City. He would need the uniform that everyone recognized for that.

As the Team was prepping to drop down into the museum, Wally was still spouting out any advice they might need to know. "Robin and Artemis, don't forget that Captain Boomerang has a lot of different trick shots and isn't afraid to fight dirty to get the upper hand. Miss Martian and Zatanna, Mirror Master can use any reflective surface to teleport, not just mirrors. The Flash Museum has a lot of shiny artifacts, so he'll probably use those to his advantage. Aqualad and Superboy, Captain Cold—"

Superboy grunted impatiently. "Can we just get his over with?" Without a warning, he jumped down to the Museum below. The Team followed and Wally shook his head. He really, really hoped the Team would take the mission seriously.

Three minutes later, everyone was in position. M'gann set up the mind-link, and Aqualad asked, _Is everyone ready?_

Zatanna confirmed, _Yeah, we're good. Anyone have eyes on the enemy yet?_

There was a pause, and then Robin piped up, _I see shadows and hear some voices. I think they're coming in through the East Wing._

_Alright Team, move in, but remain covert_, Kaldur commanded. Wally silently tiptoed down from the North Wing and looked around the corner down the East Wing. Captain Cold was up front, flanked on his right and left by Mirror Master and Captain Boomerang, while Trickster trailed behind.

"What are we looking for again, exactly?" Wally heard Mirror Master ask.

"Flash took my prototype ice-missile launcher last month when he foiled us. I need it if we're going to pull this off," Cold replied in his low, cool tone.

Trickster skipped up to the front. "What makes you think he's going to show up tonight, anyway?"

Captain Boomerang slapped the clown upside the head. "Weren't ya paying attention, ya little bugger? We dropped a hot tip at the news office this morning. If Flash ain't here tonight, he's either stupid or too scared to face us."

Wally bristled at the Rogues calling his uncle a coward. But he remained still in his position, waiting for Aqualad's cue.

Captain Cold resumed his brisk pace. "I think the weapon's near the South Wing. Come on, hurry up. I want this to be fast and easy. We don't want to be caught by surprise."

_Now, Kid_, Aqualad urged. "Too late, boys." Wally emerged from the shadows, smiling his trademark speedster smirk. "Who wants to surrender first, no harm no foul?"

Captain Boomerang did not look amused. "Well, look who it is. Where's your daddy, Baby Flash? Surprised he let you out alone on a night like tonight."

Wally crouched in a running stance, loving the rush of adrenaline that lit a spark inside him. He pulled his goggles down from his forehead over his eyes and replied calmly, "Good thing I'm not alone, then, right?"

That's when the Team swooped in from all directions, and the fight began.

* * *

At first, the battle seemed to be going smoothly for the teenaged heroes. Superboy and Aqualad were double-teaming Captain Cold, who had his hands full avoiding Superboy's strength while using his freeze-gun to counter Aqualad's water attacks. Ice shards flew everywhere.

Artemis and Robin were handling Captain Boomerang pretty well, with Artemis attacking the villain head-on while Robin used his birdarangs to take out the boomerangs that were flying in arcs around the room. Their aim and teamwork was flawless, and Boomerang was beginning to look very frazzled.

Zatanna cast reverse-speech spells to defend against Mirror Master's multiplication abilities, while Miss Martian used her shape-shifting abilities to dodge his reflective attacks. Neither girls were breaking a sweat yet.

And Wally was taking Trickster one-on-one. The Flash Museum was designed so that each wing was shaped like a tube, so Wally was able to run up the walls, across the ceiling, and back down the other side with ease, like a toy car on a loop-de-loop racetrack. It made avoiding Trickster's acid-blasts simple while allowing him to keep up full speed in any direction. "What's your play, Trickster? Are you off your medication again?" Wally shouted over the noise.

The delusional clown cackled. "I dunno, Baby Flash! Are you off _your_ medication?" He pointed his acid gun and fired again.

Wally sighed. The guy wasn't making any sense. Not a good sign. He ran in a full loop, the blood temporarily rushing to his head when he went upside down on the ceiling, and then slid across the tiled floor, sweeping his foot behind Trickster's legs and knocking him down flat on his back.

Black Canary taught him that move.

Wally placed his foot on the clown's chest to hold him still. "Come on, James, let's be real. What are you after? Flash would _not_ be happy to see you out of the hospital, buddy."

Trickster just shrugged. "Aww, Baby Flash, I dunno. Cold just said that there would be free ice cream afterwards if I helped him out on a robbery tonight. We didn't think you'd show up, though, we were expecting Flash, honest!" The criminal looked remorseful. "I'm… I'm sorry, Baby Flash."

Wally frowned, lifting his foot off of Trickster in confusion. "What do you mean, you're sorry? For what?" Trickster, of all the Rogues, was actually pretty harmless most of the time. If he was apologizing, then something was wrong.

Trickster started blubbering like a baby. "S-sorry your friends have to get hurt, Baby Flash!"

Wally felt a chill go down his back. He spun around at lightning speed to see that the battle had gone downhill fast. "Oh, no…"

He made a move to go help his friends, but Trickster had surged up and pinned him down hard, and then sealed him to the floor with super-super-glue. Wally could only watch in frustration while he focused on vibrating to create friction that could break his bonds.

The fact was, the Rogues were unique among criminals. These villains were used to fighting speedsters on a daily basis, and after years of experience dueling with Flash and Kid Flash, they were experts at thinking outside the box and coming up with fast counterstrikes. They were proficient at seeing patterns and problem-solving.

So to the Team, who had underestimated the Rogues and were unprepared for enemies who thought and acted faster than them, the fight went south before long.

Mirror Master had used the reflection of an old metal helmet that Flash took from Gorilla Grodd five years ago to create ten identical clones of himself, allowing him to sneak up and knock Zatanna out from behind. He had then thrown a handful of glass dust into the air and used the millions of reflective surfaces to create a web of lasers that momentarily trapped Miss Martian, giving him time to whack her in the head with the helmet.

Captain Cold used his freeze-gun to ice the floor, creating a slick surface that caused Superboy to slip and loose his balance. With a few quick shots, the Kryptonian clone was frozen in a thick casing of ice against a wall. Aqualad fared better on the ice and used his water-bearers to make a mace out of his enchanted water. He managed to bat Cold's freeze-gun out of his grip, then dealt a strong hit into the villain's chest, knocking him back several feet.

Just then, Mirror Master, who had vanished from the scene for a few minutes, emerged from the South Wing and tossed a large pale-blue and steel device to Cold. "This what you were looking for, Cold?"

The icy villain stood to his feet and smiled, weighing the machine in his hands. "Exactly. Much obliged," he nodded at his comrade, then pointed the machine at Aqualad's approaching form and fired. Two missiles, as wide as Kid Flash's head and about as long as Robin was tall, materialized from the launcher. They were an unusual combination of ice and metal lacing, and when they made contact with Aqualad's chest, they threw him back nearly fifty feet. Aqualad was out cold (again, no pun intended).

Robin and Artemis weren't doing much better. Captain Boomerang was tossing out four or five boomerangs a second, and Robin was having trouble keeping up with them. Artemis was starting to run out of arrows, and an explosive boomerang detonated near her feet, throwing her back against a wall. Robin had to cover both of them while she recovered, now placed on the defensive, and he was looking pretty desperate.

Wally growled in anger. Boomerang was known for extremely harmful – even lethal – weapons. Robin and Artemis needed help. He was almost free…

There! The glue broke apart, and Kid Flash jackknifed to his feet, dealing a swift uppercut to Trickster's chin. Then he turned and dashed across the museum to aid his friends.

Robin had his hands full with defending Artemis, who was now out of arrows, and avoiding boomerangs that kept arcing and returning to strike at him from all angles. As Wally came closer, he saw in slow motion a paper-thin, razor-sharp boomerang escape Robin's sight. Wally did the math, calculated the trajectory, and saw where it would land.

Robin's head.

Kid Flash put on a burst of speed, and leaped, tackling Robin to the ground and out of the way with a yell. Not losing his momentum, Wally kept running up a wall and used it to springboard out and kick another stray boomerang away. He landed and came to a skidding stop at Robin and Artemis's side.

"You guys okay?" Wally asked quietly, watching Captain Boomerang's movements carefully. The villain had paused for a moment, eyeing Kid Flash with a mad gleam in his eye.

Or was that… triumph?

Robin nodded, but looked oddly uneasy. "Yeah, we're fine. Question is, are you okay, KF?" He pointed at Wally's left shoulder. Wally looked down.

The silver boomerang had sliced through the material in his suit and was halfway embedded in his arm, just below his shoulder pad. Wally apparently was so hyped up on adrenaline, he didn't even notice. Even now, he didn't feel any pain. But it was definitely there, and there was definitely a wound, and he was definitely bleeding.

_Well, that is just peachy._

Wally reached over and pulled out the boomerang, shaking off the few drops of blood. Eyeing Captain Boomerang, he remembered what Uncle Barry always told him whenever they fought the Rogues: the best way to defeat an unpredictable enemy is to be unpredictable yourself.

What's more unpredictable than Kid Flash throwing a boomerang? Wally threw the weapon the way Uncle Barry had taught him. It arced beautifully through the air, and Captain Boomerang, not expecting the attack, was caught off guard and pinned to the wall by the fabric of his coat.

Ignoring the pain that was starting to flare up in his arm, Kid Flash turned to his teammates. "Robin, do you have a net in your belt?"

"Yeah," Robin nodded, reaching to pull it out.

"Perfect. Artemis, you and Robin get ready to capture the Rogues as soon as I round them up." Wally turned to dash off, but Artemis grabbed his hand.

"You sure you're okay? That looks… really bad." She looked a little grossed out, and was that _concern_ he detected in her tone of voice? Wally ignored the little fluttering feeling in his lungs, brushing it off as symptoms of the beginning of shock from his injury.

"Aw, shucks, you do care! No worries, I'm a speedster. We heal fast!" he replied as he ran off.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the Rogues were dangling off the ground in a net hanging from the ceiling of the Flash Museum, the Team had returned to the Bio-Ship, and Kid Flash directed the police and clean-up crews. He waved off the EMS medics, insisting that his arm was fine, and emerged from the front doors of the museum to face the waiting press.

Dealing with news reporters was a necessary evil in his job description. Uncle Barry taught him early on how to answer their nosy questions diplomatically and heroically, and Wally now handled the press all the time on his own. Still, he wanted nothing more right now than to get on patrol of the city and then go to the Allen house for a nice late dinner and a good night's rest.

"Kid Flash, what were the Rogues up to?"

"Kid Flash, where is the Flash?

"Kid Flash, did you nab the villains alone?"

"Kid Flash, are you injured?" That question came from his Aunt Iris, and while she was careful to look and sound impartial, he could tell that she was worried about his arm.

He smiled and replied, "I may have been nicked a little by Captain Boomerang, but I assure you that my arm has already healed quickly. It's just a scratch." _I'm fine, Aunt Iris_, Wally thought to the red-haired reporter, and she nodded in understanding.

He continued, "The criminals have been subdued and are now in police custody. The artifacts in the Flash Museum are secure. Now, sorry everyone, but I've gotta run." The news reporters chuckled at the cliché pun, and Kid Flash zoomed away to finish the night's patrol.

As he sprinted down a residential street on the south side of Central City, he snatched up a brown bag resting on a house's porch with the Flash logo taped onto it. It was a gesture from the Flash Food Initiative. Sweet, snickerdoodles! (Here's the irony for you: the cookies were actually made by Ms. Marcie, the lunch lady, but neither she nor Wally knew that.)

Wally stuffed two in his mouth at once and absentmindedly rubbed his left arm.

Normally a cut would have healed by now, or it would have at least started to hurt less. But he could feel the skin and muscle starting to swell up underneath the fabric of his suit, and it throbbed under his touch. _Owwww…_ he thought to himself. This was weird. It must have been deeper than he thought.

Finally, an hour and a half later, his patrol of Central City was over. Making sure none of the neighbors were watching, Wally stumbled into his Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris's house, unlocking the door with the key he kept in one of the cupboards in his gauntlets. He dragged himself into the kitchen and slumped into a chair, pulling back his cowl and rubbing his face in exhaustion.

Man, he was wiped.

But six bowls of Lucky Charms cereal later, Wally felt a little better. The front door opened, and his Aunt Iris called into the house. "Wally? Are you home?"

"In the kitchen, Aunt Iris!"

Yes, the Allen house was like Wally's second home. He spent just as much time here with his Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry as he did with his own parents, thanks to nights like tonight when missions and patrol ran later than expected. Because his aunt was used to feeding the Flash, she always had way more food than his parents did, so if Wally wanted to feel full after dinner for a change, he knew to come here where he was always welcome at their table.

It wasn't as if he didn't like his parents. As far as moms and dads go, his were fine, Wally decided. It was just that sometimes it was hard to communicate with them. They couldn't relate to him at all, didn't understand why he felt compelled to "run off into danger night after night, risking his life for strangers without getting paid a cent". But the Allen couple understood perfectly.

"Hey there, kiddo. Rough night, huh?" With a smile and a ruffle of his hair, the ginger woman always made him instantly feel better. But he noticed her attention dart straight to his arm, which was still bleeding slightly. "Want me to patch up your suit, Mr. 'It's Just a Scratch'?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. She always saw through his fibs; Wally didn't know why he ever tried lying.

He sighed and nodded. "That'd be great, Aunt Iris." He rose from his chair, wincing as he put weight on his arm, and walked upstairs to his room that his aunt and uncle let him use whenever he wanted. He even had spare clothes there.

As he carefully peeled his way out of the yellow suit, Wally got a good look at the gash where the boomerang had hit him. It was about four inches wide and really deep, maybe five inches. But it was already starting to stop bleeding, and it didn't look like there was any infection or contamination. It seemed just like a clean, straight slice, and with any luck it would be healed up by morning.

(Unfortunately, being a somewhat klutzy teenaged speedster meant that Wally had gotten uncannily proficient at assessing his own injuries.)

Wally changed into a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt and some pajama bottoms, then went back downstairs to give his suit to Aunt Iris so she could mend it. As he descended the steps, he caught a whiff of his aunt's famous tuna noodle casserole (it actually tasted fantastic, in case you were wondering), and his stomach growled. "Wow, smells great!"

"Ah ah ah," she shook her finger at him playfully. "No food for you until you wash and bandage up that gash on your arm." _Nothing gets past that woman_, Wally fondly thought to himself, but obeyed, pulling out the First Aid kit from a cabinet underneath a countertop. With sad expertise, he used alcohol wipes to clear away any invisible germs, grimacing slightly at the sting, and then dabbed on some Neosporin at his aunt's insistence. He finished up with a long, wide, white ace bandage that wrapped several times around his arm. There. No problem.

As Wally dug into his dinner, his aunt gave him a brief summary of the day's news. Apparently, while Wally had been at school, Uncle Barry had foiled three robberies, ended two attempted assaults, and even ran over to Star City to help out Green Arrow solve a case involving a series of stolen vats of chocolate. "Oh, and Roy says hi," Aunt Iris added with a smile.

Wally swallowed his mouthful of casserole and replied, "Man, I haven't seen the guy in forever. He and Dick and I should hang out this weekend. Can you get my mom's permission, Aunt Iris?"

The red-haired woman frowned disapprovingly. "You know I don't like lying to your parents, mister. Why don't you ask them yourself?"

She motioned for him to wash his dishes, and as he rinsed them with soap and water under the sink, he answered, "Because they'll say no! Please, Aunt Iris."

She sighed and nodded. "Alright, Wally, I'll see what I can do. Now why don't you get some sleep? It's late." Wally kissed her on the cheek good-night and dropped into bed, sleeping soundly.

* * *

In the Central City police station waiting to be transferred, the four Rogues who had been captured that evening were conferring quietly in their cell. Despite being caught in their schemes, the villains looked oddly pleased with themselves.

"So you're sure that Baby Flash was hit?" Mirror Master asked Captain Boomerang eagerly.

"Positive. Saw it with my own eyes," affirmed the Aussie proudly.

Captain Cold closed his eyes with satisfaction. "Excellent. Everything is going according to plan. Trickster, have you contacted you-know-who?"

The clown shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, still uncomfortable about what they did to Baby Flash, and replied, "Yeah. Should be on his way."

Cold nodded. "Once he gets here and we pass along the information, we'll make our getaway when we're in transit to Arkham. He'll proceed with the next stage in the plan in the meanwhile and report back to us."

A few minutes later, a lithe figure pried open the window to the cell ward of the police station and dropped down to the floor soundlessly. Shaded eyes cautiously surveyed his surroundings, and then he stepped out of the shadows into the light. He was dressed in black and green, with a lime green hood over his head that cast a dark shadow over his face, and wore a silver belt around his waist. In his hand was, oddly enough, a silver flute. While he wasn't particularly tall or muscular, he still wore an aura of danger and hidden power. He approached the Rogues, stealthily and silently, with the stalking step of a hunter.

Spinning his flute around his fingers like a baton, he asked in a slow, low voice, "Did someone call for a Piper?"

* * *

_**A.N. **_So I'm back to civilization! Though, since this is winter break and I do want to spend time with my family, I still may not post every single day for the next few weeks, but I'll do what I can!

Let me know what you think of this chapter! Since it's so long, let me know if you see any errors or things that need fixing! Also, I would love some constructive criticism! I really love writing, and I want to improve, so any comments are always welcome!

Yours,

Iron Woobie


	6. The Weapon

_**A.N.**_ So it's been a while since the last update! Sorry about the wait, everyone, but I was spending Christmas with my family. I was also planning out the next few stages in this story, and I'm hope I'm finally getting a solid plot line going. Thank you everyone who's reviewing and following me and this story! I feel so honored! And I'm sorry that I don't have time to reply to every single one of your reviews all the time, but just know that I read and squeal over every one of them!

So, without a further ado, I bring you Chapter 6!

* * *

_In the aftermath of the mission the previous night, Wally finds himself nursing a wound and rethinking the circumstances of the Rogues' attack. Meanwhile, Barry Allen looks into the mysterious new weapon used in the fight._

_Things are heating up for our resident teen speedster…_

**Chapter Six: The Weapon**

As the bell rang the next morning at the start of English class, Wally West was slouched at his desk, lost in thought. His head rested on his arms, his hair looking a little less spiky than usual. His fingers absentmindedly picked at his shirt and rubbed his arm where the boomerang had hit him last night.

When Wally had tried to push himself out of bed that morning, his stupid arm had _buckled_. Rather than healing completely overnight like it was supposed to, his arm decided to get even worse. It wasn't even infected, and it still hurt worse than any other cut or gash Wally had gotten since the night he got his powers.

But that wasn't what was bothering him at the moment. Trickster's words kept replaying over and over in his head. _"We didn't think you'd show up, though, we were expecting Flash, honest!_ _I'm… I'm sorry, Baby Flash."_ When Trickster said it, he sounded like he was genuinely sorry, like _Wally_ was in danger.

But then… _"S-sorry your friends have to get hurt, Baby Flash!"_ And that had distracted Wally long enough for the clown to tackle him and glue him to the floor (as ridiculous as that sounded in hindsight). He'd been forced to watch his Team get taken down one by one until only Artemis and Robin were still fighting.

Trickster's words made sense, since there was no way the Rogues could have expected the Team showing up. But still, something in the clown's tone of voice didn't add up… Wally frowned and resisted the urge to groan, instead burying his head in his arms.

His phone in his pocket buzzed, and he snuck it out for a quick peek while Ms. Small took attendance.

It was Dick. _Sorry again about last night, you were right_, he had texted.

Taking a glance up at the teacher, whose back was turned while she was writing on the board, Wally replied, _It's okay. Simple mistake. Now you know._

_How's your arm? _Wally could practically hear the guilt in Dick's voice.

_Still kinda hurts. Weird, huh?_

There was a pause, then his best friend texted back, _Not just weird. A disaster, heavy on the dis. You should have Bruce take a look at it. Could be something dangerous._

Wally was about to answer when Ms. Small cleared her throat. "Mr. West? Care to comment?"

Well, turds. "Uhhh…" Wally began intelligently. He had no idea what the teacher was talking about.

Next to him, Hartley whispered under his hand, "Jesus."

Like a good little red parrot, Wally echoed loudly, "Jesus!" Maybe a little too loudly, judging by the frown on Ms. Small's face and the stifled giggles from around the classroom.

In retrospect, that probably came out wrong.

Thinking fast, Wally elaborated. "I mean… uh… It's, uh, it's a _Biblical_ allusion, uh, _to_ Jesus?"

Her lips pursed, Ms. Small gave a curt nod. "Correct." She turned to the blackboard and underlined twice in white chalk the words _Lord of the Flies_, starting to talk about some kid named Simon. Ah, so that's what the discussion was about.

Wally vaguely remembered that book being on the required reading list that he never touched last summer. He had been a little busy doing speed training with Uncle Barry, and then getting started with the Team following the Cadmus incident. Why read some boring book when you could be running with your mentor cross-country - _literally?_

Besides, he figured that if there ever was an assessment on the books, he could always flip through them a few seconds before the test and hopefully still pass. (Speed reading, though _never_ good for long-term retention, was his ace in the hole for pop quizzes.)

With Ms. Small's attention now off of him, Wally replied to Dick, _You may be right. Can I stop by your house after school today?_

Immediately, his friend replied, _Sure. Stay traught, man._

* * *

Barry Allen stumbled into work an hour and a half late, bleary-eyed, his blonde hair disheveled, and his shirt not only untucked, but backwards. He had awful bags under his eyes that made him look like he'd been in a gang fight, and his entrance was marked by an audible growling noise of hunger.

Barry Allen, better known as the Flash, had just gotten back from a long night of heroism, much like his nephew. After patching through the tip from Central City to Bruce right after coming home from work, he had Zeta-tubed up to the Watchtower where he sat in a two-hour budget meeting with the League founding members. (Two words: _Snore Fest._) He then joined the two Green Lanterns, Hawkman, Hawkwoman and Wonder Woman on an intergalactic diplomatic mission, followed by an at-first-unexpected-but-in-hindsight-completely-predictable ambush by space pirates.

He _hated_ space pirates.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Barry had slipped into his house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Careful not to wake his wife, who had fallen asleep with the light on and a book on her lap (probably waiting up for him, despite his constant reminders that most heroes rarely come home early), he changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed. But a few hours later, the blonde speedster forced himself to roll out of bed once more, get dressed, and go to work.

By the time he'd made it downstairs, both Wally and Iris had gone to school or work for the day, and there was a big stack of pancakes waiting for him in the refrigerator with a sweet note from his wife. He never even got to ask his nephew how last night went.

Then he drove – as achingly slow as a car was to a speedster – to work. The great part about his job, though, was that he still got to serve the people of his town. Just in a different capacity. As Central City's top forensic scientist, Barry solved criminal injustice both day and night. And as he dropped down into his rolling chair behind his lab desk, he couldn't help a small smile despite his exhaustion.

Just then, his boss, Dr. Richardson, came up beside him and spoke in his usual condescending voice. "Glad to see you cared to show up to work today, Allen. Though you are, _as usual_, very late. I'm docking your pay. Now please, _please_, get something done today." The man tossed a stack of files nearly two feet tall onto Barry's desk and turned without another word.

"Good morning to you, too, sir," Barry muttered sarcastically. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration before pulling the first paper-clipped file off the stack and opening it. Barry wanted desperately to skip through the folders until he found the break-in at the Museum from the night before, just so that he could see how Wally did against the Rogues. Yet he restrained himself, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to his nephew and possibly make connections between himself and Kid Flash. So he started from the top and worked his way down.

But before he even started reading the police report, his co-worker Justin leaned out of his cubicle and whispered, "Psst. Barry."

He glanced at Justin. "Hmm?" he asked with a good-natured smile.

Justin looked around and pushed his goggles back up the bridge of his nose before continuing in a low, conspiratorial tone, "Don't know if ya heard yet, but Kid Flash and a few other unknown supers took on the Rogues last night. Flash Museum. Around eight pm. Boss stuck the file at the bottom of your stack this morning as a test to see if you'd make it there by the end of the day. Think he wants to screw ya over or something. So, just saying, if I were you, I'd start from the bottom." Then he darted back to his cubicle and resumed his fingerprint testing.

With a nod of gratitude, Barry lifted the stack up and jiggled the thick folder out from the bottom. As he started pulling the clip off, he frowned at the thought that his boss had it out for him. Barry knew his tardiness was getting out of hand, but he would never think that Dr. Richardson would actively try to get him fired. Was it jealousy that Barry had the highest number of cracked cases on record in CCPD history?

Barry shrugged and flipped open the file, secretly speed-reading the police report. Hmm, looks like only Wally stayed behind to talk to the police. Probably keeping the rest of the Team's activities covert. Smart.

When he got to the picture of Captain Cold's ice-missile launcher, Barry shook his head in confusion. That didn't make any sense. Cold never wanted that missile launcher. Said it was a dud, a failed prototype. In fact, when Barry made his rounds – as the Flash, of course - at the Rogues' hangout bar last month, Cold came up to him and literally _handed_ the ice-missile launcher to him, begging him to take it off his hands. Heck, he even agreed to Barry claiming that he confiscated it during a foiled felony, just to make it seem less suspicious.

Bottom line: there was no reason why Cold needed that weapon that badly. He had several newer, better, more efficient models than that prototype. So if it worked the way Kid said it did, then why… Something didn't add up, which could only mean one thing.

The break-in was a setup, a trap.

Suddenly on edge, Barry quickly flipped through the rest of the report, breezing past the unimpressive images of Mirror Master's reflective mirrors and Trickster's acid-gun, and stopped at a picture of a boomerang embedded into a wall. It was incredibly thin, and seemed to be much smaller than anything Boomerang had used in the past. With well-trained eyes, Barry noted the finely-serrated edges, as well as the carefully-placed grooves that would have caused the boomerang to have a tighter, more definite arc than some other models the Rogue generally used. But it was the two ends of the boomerang that stood out to Barry the most: they weren't rounded or dull in the least.

They were sharpened, intended to work like _knives_ on the human body.

And judging by the faint bloodstains on the pale, shining metal, someone on the Team had found that out the hard way.

Barry stood to his feet abruptly and practically burst out of the lab room. He fought the temptation to sprint at top speed down the hallway of the police station to the evidence closet. His thoughts were spinning at a hundred miles an hour. If one of the kids on the Team had been hit with a new, revolutionary boomerang, then he had to make sure that there wasn't anything particularly funky in the weapon. Boomerang was one of the few Rogues who had a tendency to bend the no-killing rule; he could have created a bioterrorist-type metal, or added a parasite, or even hidden a toxin in the blade-like tips.

Deep down, though he knew it wasn't proper as a hero to show favoritism or partiality, Barry really, _really_ hoped that Wally wasn't the one who'd been hit.

* * *

After class let out, Wally noticed Hartley caught up to his side. "Hey, Walls. What was _that_? You're spacier than usual today."

Wally sighed at looked at the guy walking next to him. Hartley Rathaway, also a sophomore, also with red-hair that was so long he wore it in a ponytail. You could say that of all the kids in Keystone High, Hartley was the closest Wally had to a friend. They only had English together, and they had different lunch periods, but they saw each other during passing period sometimes.

Some days, Hartley would do his English homework if Wally did his chemistry homework. Sure, it may not have been _completely_ honest, but at least it was better than the guys who tried to bully Wally into doing their homework last year. He smiled. _The_ _Flash_ _himself_ made a visit to the school and gave this big sappy speech about how bullying was just as wrong as anything the Joker's sick mind could cook up. Then he said that if there was any bullying going on in Keystone High, he would put a stop to it.

Wally was never bullied again.

To answer Hartley's question though, Wally ran a hand through his head and replied, "Yeah, I had a late night. Little bit tired." And it was true. He didn't get to bed until around two in the morning, and then he had to wake up early so he could stop by his parents' house. Uncle Barry had looked way too exhausted to join Wally on their habitual morning jog from Missouri to the Gulf of Mexico, and frankly, Wally felt the same.

But Hartley just laughed. "Yeah, well, better snap out of it before Ms. Hasbrouck's class. You know how she is with kids who fall asleep. Especially you." He winked and gave Wally a playful nudge with his elbow before darting off to orchestra. "See you later, Wally!"

Wally was left standing in the middle of the hallway blinking back tears and clutching his arm. Hartley had only touched him a little, yet it felt like his arm was on fire while being run over by a steamroller. This was not okay. _Nothing_ had ever hurt so bad that it made him nearly cry. Not even when he broke his arm a while ago fighting the Injustice League. "Get it together, Wall-man. Suck it up."

As he walked into Chemistry class, he noticed his favorite person in the world, Coach Matthews, walking out. The coach gave him the stink eye as they passed each other, and Wally shuddered. That guy was like a bad wart. He just. Kept. Coming. Back. Bad enough Wally had gym class every day; he didn't need to see the man twenty-four-seven.

And what was he even doing in Ms. Hasbrouck's classroom, anyway?

As soon as he slid into his desk, Wally's mind wandered. His thoughts returned to last night's mission with the Team, and the aftermath when he barely resisted pointing and shouting "I told you so!" to everyone. They all looked pretty guilty though, and Kaldur especially looked ashamed for not taking the mission seriously. He probably felt the worst since he would be the one reporting to Batman at the debriefing back at the Cave. Wally actually felt sorry for the guy.

"Wallace," Ms. Hasbrouck snapped at him. He hated when she called him that.

"Uh, here!" he blurted. _Please be attendance, please be attendance…_ Wally was getting tired of teachers singling him out. With Ms. Hasbrouck in particular, it felt like she was always so nice and kind to everyone else, but despised him and him only.

As she did every day, the woman glared at him with a warning to pay attention and began the lesson. And as he did every day, Wally instantly tuned her out. It was a mundane topic, like titrations or something. Just like with everything else he was supposed to be "learning", Wally already knew this material like the back of his hand. He'd had to teach himself advanced chemistry several years ago when he was preparing to recreate the Flash's experiment.

If you figure out how to give yourself super-speed at age ten and actually _succeed_ at it, then you're probably golden in the chemistry department. At least, that's the way Wally saw it. He doodled the Flash insignia in his notebook, and then drew the logos of the rest of his Team. M'gann's Martian X, Conner's "S" -sorry, the "coat of arms for the House of El", whatever that meant – Kaldur's funny symbol on his belt that kind of looked like half of the McDonald's golden arches… That thought almost made him laugh out loud.

"Is there something funny you would care to share with the class, Wallace? Perhaps the Henderson-Hasselbalch equation we're discussing?" Ms. Hasbrouck's eyes seemed to look straight to his soul. (Wally had been keeping count. If she had laser vision like Superman, he would have been roasted exactly sixty-three times this semester.)

But he obeyed. "The Henderson-Hasselbalch equation is used to calculate the pH of a buffer solution or the concentration of the acid and base. By substitution the values for a weak acid and its conjugate base, for example, you can find the value of the pH of the buffer."

"That's… exactly right. As usual." Yet this only seemed to make Ms. Hasbrouck angrier. She her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Care to solve the problem on the board, then, Wallace?"

Wally sighed and rose from his seat, purposely avoiding putting pressure on his arm, and walked over to the board. He had done this problem a million times – three years ago. He picked up the marker and started working the problem automatically, his mind thinking of six other things he could have been doing at the moment, any of which would be more interesting than this.

"Wallace?"

_Now what?_ "Yes, ma'am?"

"Would you like to use a calculator?" She held up a device in her hand, pointing at the spot where Wally would need to use it. This problem was a bit too complex to solve without a calculator, she was trying to say.

"That's alright." Wally shrugged and solved it out in a few seconds anyway. He returned to his seat, the class gaping at him. The teacher stared at the board.

"How… how were you able to…?" She turned, her blonde curls flipping around, and Wally saw instantly in her eyes a look that many teachers had given him over the years. She thought he was cheating. He knew what would inevitably come next… "Wallace, I will see you after class."

_Terrific._

* * *

Wally stood before Ms. Hasbrouck's desk, looking down at her, barely hiding his impatience. She, likewise, looked very irritated as she engaged him in a staring contest. Wally lost, of course. (Since seconds can seem like hours to speedsters, managing to avoid blinking for more than a minute was close to impossible.)

"Mr. West," she finally said, the corners of her mouth turned down sternly. "I understand that you think yourself a very smart boy when it comes to science, am I correct?"

_Not just smart_, Wally thought, _Freaking brilliant. Science made me who I am._ It wasn't cockiness; it was the truth. But that probably wasn't the right response, so he said, "I'm a fast learner, I guess, ma'am."

Ms. Hasbrouck harrumphed and then gestured to the board. "Be that as it may, it doesn't explain why you were able to solve that equation without the use of a calculator. As far as logarithms go, that one involved a nonrepeating decimal, yet you managed to not only find the solution, but to truncate the answer flawlessly to four decimal places." She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for a suitable explanation.

"My, uh, my friend taught me some tricks to solving logarithms on the fly." And it was the truth. Wally may not be a math genius, but Dick was an honest-to-goodness _mathlete_. The two dorks helped each other out with homework during their off time at the Cave.

The teacher's eyes narrowed. "Your _friend_. I see. I'm assuming that this _friend_ of yours is not a student here at Keystone High School?"

Wally stammered. "Wha-what makes you say that?"

With a cruel smirk, Ms. Hasbrouck replied, "Wallace, it's no secret that you don't exactly have a large group of friends." Well. _Ouch_. "In fact, I will have you know that you aren't exactly popular among the faculty either. For some students, this may be a perfectly fine position to be in. However, I understand that you intend to go to college following graduation from high school, am I right?"

Wally shrugged. He had never really thought about it before, but he assumed that college was his destination in a few years. He would have to figure out how post-high school education would work out around his superhero schedule, though. Priorities and all that.

The blonde woman blinked. "If you do intend to get into any college or university, you are going to need teacher recommendations. And I'll give you a hint: teachers will only be willing to write you recommendations if they _like_ you."

With a gulp, Wally managed to utter, "And… and do you not like me?" Though both of them already knew the answer to that question. "Why… why not? I turn in homework, I do well on tests. I'm obviously learning the material. What am I doing wrong?" He didn't understand why this lady hated his guts so much.

"It's not because of your grades, Wallace," Ms. Hasbrouck sighed. "It's because of how you _earn_ those grades. While you may very well comprehend all of the material in my class for the rest of the year, you still come into class with a terrible attitude. Your attitude, your lack of attention and regard for what I carefully prepare for class each day, makes me feel that I am wasting my time as a teacher." Wally tried to object, but she cut him off, "Now, I know you have no clue what it feels like to be underappreciated, to be mistreated day in and day out, to sacrifice your time for your thankless job to help people, to be taken advantage of despite your knowledge and abilities. But let me tell you, it's very frustrating."

_If she only knew…_

But it was kind of funny how he could relate to Ms. Hasbrouck's emotions. If he wanted her to treat him well, he'd better make an effort to do the same. Wally ducked his head politely in acknowledgement. "I get it, ma'am. I will do my best to be a better student in the future."

Appeased for the moment, the teacher sat back in her chair. "You are free to go, Wallace." Wally turned to leave the classroom, but then she called after him. "By the way, Mr. West. You aced the equilibrium test. Good work." He spun around at the compliment and was surprised to see a small smile on her face.

Maybe his chemistry teacher wasn't as evil as he thought.

* * *

In the crime lab at the Central City Police Department, Barry was bent over his lab table under a blacklight, peering through a magnifying glass and poking at an object with a pair of tweezers. He was mumbling to himself as he worked, trying to make sense of what he saw.

He had acquired permission from the guard of the evidence locker to perform some tests on the boomerang and took it down to the darkroom where he could work in peace. Barry expertly snapped on his goggles and then pulled on a pair of thick, sterile work gloves (he didn't want to get sliced by the sharpened metal, after all). Then he lifted up the carefully sealed evidence bag, peeled it open, and pulled out the weapon.

Even in near-total darkness, the boomerang seemed to gleam. It was lightweight, lighter than a kitchen knife, and Barry tried to imagine the amount of technique Captain Boomerang would need to be able to throw a thin, light weapon like this without cutting himself. The man may have been a villain, but no one, not even Barry, could deny his unmatched skill.

He then held the boomerang under the blacklight and observed the colors that glowed. Blues and greens, yellows, and reds. The metal was made from a multitude of different minerals, but it could be anything. Fluorite, calcite, gypsum, ruby, talc, opal, agate, quartz, amber… It honestly could be anything under the sun. He would need to perform more tests later.

Lastly, Barry placed the weapon on a cutting board and used a special knife to scrape a few shavings of metal off the very tips of the boomerang. With the hand of a practiced scientist, he used sterilized tweezers to lift the shavings off the cutting board and onto a few slides, applied the cover slips, and then slid one of the glass specimens underneath a microscope. Holding his breath, he peered down through the lens to observe the slide.

At first, what he saw was so unremarkable that he started to question his paranoia regarding the offending metal weapon. Barry saw the sheen of the metal, the expected grating cuts in the shavings from the knife, nothing too special. But then his expert eyes caught something. A little bit of darkness embedded in the metal. It could be a shadow, or just a fault in the metal's consistency.

Or it could be something else.

Barry increased the magnification to its highest setting and navigated the slide to the patch of darkness in the metal shavings. For a while, he stared at it. "Well, now. What's your deal, little guy?" He carefully poked at it with the tweezers. It seemed to move, to twitch a fraction of a fraction of a millimeter. That caught him by surprise, and instantly all of his earlier fears of parasites rose to the surface. "Take a deep breath, Barry," he reminded himself.

The blonde man took a step back from the microscope and turned to the boomerang on the countertop that continued to gleam brightly despite the darkness of the room, almost like it was glowing. Barry sighed and crossed his arms, frowning in thought. The Rogues wouldn't have - by any stretch of the imagination – expected the Team to fight them last night, since not many people in the world knew that the Team even existed. The four criminals would have been prepared to fight him or Wally. They were the crooks of Central City; engaging speedsters in combat was their specialty. "So if that's the case, then maybe…" Barry mumbled to himself.

He returned his gaze through the lens of the microscope, and then, on a whim, he sped up his perception.

It was a trick he'd picked up over the years, a way to increase his awareness, his thought processes, and all of his senses, but not have any obvious external change in speed. On the outside, no one could tell he was using his powers. The skill was extremely difficult at first and required immense concentration, and Wally was still figuring out how to disconnect the rate of his body from the rate of his mind, so it would be a while before his nephew was comfortable enough in his speed to accomplish the technique.

With his accelerated perception, Barry narrowed his focus on the dark splotch on the metal. The faster his eyes tracked its twitching, the more he felt uneasy. At last, he reached his top speed, and as he could barely track the twitching with his eyes, three facts became clear.

First, this thing, some type of toxin, could vibrate at high speeds. Faster than Wally, faster than Barry, even. Second, this little splotch in the metal was capable of completely destroying speedster cells over time if it was present in large quantities.

Third - as if that wasn't disturbing enough - Barry performed the calculations and observed other parts of the boomerang. The weapon had thin traces of the unknown material all over it, but it seemed like there had been a lot more of it before. If Wally _had_ been hit by the weapon, then his body would have been seriously infected with the toxin.

Barry slowly repacked the evidence bag with the boomerang and the slides, thinking to himself of the implications. "Stay calm, stay calm, Barry." Part of him knew that his tests he'd performed were only preliminary. He really would need to send them off to the official testing labs for a detailed, definitive verdict. Barry pulled a drawer under the darkroom's countertop open and pulled out a blank form from the stack. He filled it out, stapled it to the evidence bag, and quickly carried it off to the mail room.

Results would be back in five days or less. In the meantime, Barry would keep this quiet. He didn't want to scare Wally unnecessarily unless he had legitimate proof that his sidekick – no, _partner_ – was in danger.

* * *

For Hartley Rathaway, Keystone High wasn't that bad of a place to be. It was big, big enough for a loner of a teenager to get lost in the crowd, and it was fairly clean, not terribly run-down as far as public schools go. The teachers, though generally boring-as-all-get-out, were good at their jobs. And best of all…

The music program kicked butt.

Hartley had taken several high school classes over the past two summers to get the credits out of the way, so this year he had room in his schedule for a total of _six_ advanced orchestra, band, and music theory classes every day. When he was reading sheet music and keeping time with the conductors, Hartley truly felt at peace. As cheesy as that sounds. But it was the truth.

He never went anywhere without his flute.

At the moment, he was in the middle of the marching band's routine. Holding his silver flute up high, level with his shoulders, he played the tune with the rest of his section with ease and finesse. He knew this music by heart so well that he allowed his attention to wander.

The sky was overcast today; it would probably rain later on in the afternoon.

The culinary classes were having a bake sale this afternoon. He was glad he brought a few quarters for some brownies.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hartley saw a gym class playing football not too far away. He saw Wally and his bright red hair among the players, and the guy honestly seemed to be struggling. Not that _that_ was any surprise. Hartley loved the guy, but he had to admit that Wally may have been the least athletic student in the entirety of Keystone High.

Which was _weird_.

Because Wally looked like he _could_ have been an athlete; he wasn't big and bulky or tall, but something about the way he walked and the smoothness of all his other movements were similar to those of the guys on the track team. He certainly ate enough for an athlete – Hartley didn't know where all that food went.

He decided that Wally probably had some private medical problem that prevented him for doing any physical activity at school or something. It was the only explanation. Across the marching field, he saw the football soar high through the air from Coach Matthew's strong kick, and almost in slow motion, he saw the ball fall down… down… down…

Right smack into Wally's face. Hartley winced in sympathy, and then watched as the guy somehow got his hands, fingers, arms around the ball.

_He caught it._

Apparently Wally was as surprised as anyone, because for a good three seconds, he just stood in place, staring down at the ball in his arms. Even from where Hartley was marching, he could hear the coach practically screaming at the ginger to run, get a move on. Finally, Wally began to slowly trot in the direction of the touchdown zone.

Well, at least the boy was trying.

Of course, there were also _very_ athletic guys in the gym class with Wally, and they were on him like white on rice. And since this was _tackle_ football, not flag, Wally ended up getting dog-piled, poor guy.

But up from the bottom of the pile, across the football field, to the marching field, to the ears of everyone within a two-hundred-yard radius, rose a scream of agony.

_Wally_.

Hartley watched anxiously as Coach Matthews ran over and pulled the other guys off of the ginger. Wally was curled into the fetal position, clutching his arm, and…. Was he _crying_? Maybe it was broken. The coach crouched next to him and prodded at his arm while Wally's face was screwed up tightly with pain.

The coach's voice carried. "It's not broken, West. And it's not sprained either. What are you being a baby about? Huh? Get up. Get _up_. Go walk yourself to the nurse's office. Quickly, quickly!" Wally slowly got to his feet, the tears still trickling down his face, which was blushing both with agony and embarrassment. He stumbled a bit; his balance must have been off because of the pain.

As Wally started making his way back to the main building where the nurse's office was located, Coach Matthews called after him, "Maybe while you're there, you can get some ointment that'll make you less of a pansy, West!"

Hartley watched with worry, wondering what was going on with Wally. But he continued with the music on his flute.

Wally was a quirky guy. While he was generally friendly enough and had a great sense of humor at times, he was a very private person. As far as Hartley knew, he wasn't involved in any clubs or organizations at Keystone High, yet he was always "too busy" to hang out after school. He seemed to constantly need food, and he always looked like he didn't get enough sleep the night before. He was a total genius when it came to any kind of science, yet he didn't even try for other subjects like English or social studies.

And the guy _always_ wore sleeves. Even in the summer.

But Hartley still considered him a friend. After all, gingers stick together, right?

At that thought, he almost faltered in his marching routine. All at once, his assignment came to mind. He'd been searching the school for a guy just like Wally. Medium height, green eyes, red hair, freckles, pretty athletic, a wound on his upper arm…

He would need to double check, but he was pretty sure he found him. The guy that Cold and the rest of the Rogues wanted him to find.

Hartley Rathaway, better known as the Pied Piper, had just found Kid Flash at Keystone High.

* * *

_**A.N.**_ Again, a really long chapter! (_**Fifteen pages**_ on Microsoft Word.) I would like some feedback if you prefer having longer chapters like this or shorter ones like the chapters in the beginning of the story. I feel like sometimes, more is not always better, and that I should try for shorter, more concise updates. But I also like having more to offer all of you! So let me know your opinion on the chapter lengths!

For this chapter, I was really trying to develop my research skills, which is why there's so much stuff with Barry and the science terms in Wally's chemistry class. Likewise, I wanted to practice showing different sides of the characters by (re)introducing Hartley and starting to de-villainize (un-villainize?) Ms. Hasbrouck.

All in all, let me know what you think of this latest development and if you see anything that could be improved!

_Next on Outlier: Get a peek into Wally's medical history, from both a civilian and a superhero standpoint. _

_Meanwhile, the Pied Piper fits together the pieces of the puzzle for the secret identity of Kid Flash, and even more Keystone High faculty members are starting to notice the peculiarities of a certain ginger student named Wallace Rudolph West…_


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